


The King and the Pawn

by steampunkmagic



Series: Oswald and Smith Mysteries [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Noir, F/M, Mystery, New York City, whouffle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-21 22:01:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steampunkmagic/pseuds/steampunkmagic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Noir AU. Sequel/ Companion piece to 'The Gilded Cage'. <br/>Detective Clara Oswald and Officer John Smith are back on the case in New York City. When a drug lord is out for revenge everything is on the line and not everyone may make it out alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1: The Note

**Author's Note:**

> I got so many requests to do another story with Detective Oswald and Officer Smith and because I really wanted to write another, here it is!   
> This will be in four parts.
> 
> I always love to reviews!  
> Enjoy :D

  


**The King and The Pawn**

**_~An Oswald and Smith Mystery~_ **

 

**Part 1: The Note**

 

                New York City was sweltering.  The biggest heat wave in years was currently causing blackouts, soft asphalt, and Detective Clara Oswald's misery.  She was starting to wonder if death by asphyxiation was worth crawling inside the ice box.  It was tempting.

                The portable fan on her desk whirled away in vain doing little more than ruffle her papers.  Clara sat at the typewriter working up another bill.  God, she hated paperwork.

                Ever since the Gallifrey Club case business had been booming.  Everyone wanted the PI who took down the Master, even if she was a woman.  Months passed and Clara's phone had yet to stop ringing.  It was great for getting her rent paid on time, for once.  Unfortunately it also meant paperwork, lots of paperwork.

                Clara finished her invoice with a sigh.  She pushed back her now limp curls and decided to call it quits.  It was late and she had dinner plans.   That is if John could get off in time.

                The hack which took her to the Upper East Side smelled of old cigarettes and stale beer.  It was the official scent of the city, the particular side of the city Clara saw every day.  It was lust, lies, and lost dreams.  The murders, the missing husbands, the mobsters, and the drug lords.  They were all part of the seedy underbelly of the Big Apple. 

                Her cherry-red heels clicked on the pavement as Clara handed the cabbie his green.  He seemed more interested in the way her thin blouse clung to her breasts than the money.  Men were all same, with one exception.   As the cab drove off she glanced up to see an orange light glowing in her apartment window.  He was there. 

                Officer John Smith of the NYPD worked in undercover operations.  They met on the Gallifrey Club case when Clara was hired to tail his cover identify 'the Doctor'.  Handsome, charismatic, charming, and all around ridiculous, he managed to win her over.  No mean feat since Clara had come to except that love was for saps and dimestore novels.

                John greeted Clara with a lopsided grin.  He was wearing nothing but an undershirt and trousers in the oppressive heat.

                "I told you I would make it." he said.

                "Does this mean you made an arrest?"

                John smirked, "Don't I always?"

                Clara rolled her eyes, entwining her arms around his neck.   He was full of it.  His hands slid to her waist pulling her closer.   Their lips met.  Clara sighed leaning into him.

                And then the phone rang.

                "If that's your Captain again I'm going to tell him to dust out."  she said slipping out of John's embrace. 

                This is what always happened.   Some stiff showed up in a back alley then there went their dinner plans.   Clara lifted the phone off the cradle wonder which one of them was being called out this time.

                "Detective Oswald speaking."

                A shaky, male voice spoke from the other end of the line.  It was a voice she recognized. 

                "Clara, it's- it's David.  Is John there?" 

                David was John's older brother.  He and his wife Rose lived on the other side of the city.  She could tell something was wrong, big time.   "Yes he's here.  David what is it?"

                There was a pause, "Can you both just come over here?"

                Clara glanced at John who was watching her with a concerned expression.  "We'll be right there." 

***

                David met them at the door to his apartment.   His was tall and thin, like his brother, and had brown hair which appeared to defy gravity.   Normally the man was the cat's meow, but not that evening.   Torn shirt, loose tie, and a fresh shiner, David was a sight for sore eyes.  

                "What happened?" John demanded. 

                His brother met his gaze with a hollow expression.   He looked numb and overwhelmed.

                  "They took her.  They took Rose." David said finally.

                Knowing motions would do her no good, Clara's gumshoe instincts kicked in, "Ok, start from the beginning."

                David let them inside.   The joint was a mess.   Lamps knocked down, tables overturned, a forgotten album spun on playing endless static.   Clear signs of a fight were everywhere.   Glass crunched underneath her heel causing Clara to look down.   Rose smiled up at her from the shattered frame of a photograph.   She wasn't your dime-a-dozen dame.   She was blonde and beautiful in a homespun kind of way.  The sort of gal any boy would want to bring home to meet the folks.   And now it seemed Clara's world had come crashing into hers.

                David sunk down in the only upright chair, head in hands.  "Rose was making dinner and the doorbell rang.   I went to answer it.   There were three of them.   They forced their way inside.  I tried to fight but one of them goons hit me in the back of the head with his bean-shooter.   He dry-gulched me and when I came to Rose was gone." 

                John placed a supportive hand on his brother's shoulder.    Clara went over the room taking in every detail.   The scene corroborated his story, but she could tell that wasn't all of it.   She turned back to David.

                "What haven't you told us?"

                He didn't answer.   Slipping his hand in his shirt pocket David pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to John.   Frowning John read it over then gave it to Clara.

                It was a message in sprawling, black ink.

                _'If you go to the police your wife dies.  Leave $5,000 in an unmarked bag at the Angel of the Waters fountain midnight tomorrow or your wife dies.'_

               

 

 

 

 


	2. Part 2: Undercover

**Part 2: Undercover**

 

                John gave David a whiskey.  No cheap talk would make this better.  He drained the glass then stared into its depths as if it would give him answers.  A tableau Clara had seen many times before.  When life dropped you at the bottom it seemed the only place left to look was the glass.  She had never known anyone to get an answer yet.

                John slid over to Clara's side.  "Something about this seem wrong to you?"

                She met his eyes.  His brow was creased with worry lines he was trying to mask for his brother's stake. 

                "Only everything."

                John lowered his voice, "My brother's a nobody.  He doesn't have that kind of green.  There's no reason to target them."

                Clara didn't say what she was thinking. 

                They could question the neighbors and see if anyone saw anything.  It would probably be a waste of time though.  New Yorkers were famous for keeping their heads down and looking the other way.  People chose to believe that if they didn't see it, it didn't happen.

                Clara knelt down beside David, "Do you remember what the men looked like?"

                It took a moment for the shell-shocked man to reply.  "One was blonde and short, one I think was Cuban, and the other had dark cropped hair.  I'm sorry it's all sorta hazy."

                "What about their clothes?" she prompted.

                David frowned trying to remember.  Witnesses often missed all the details in the heat of the moment.   "The one with dark hair, he had a pin on his lapel."

                "What kind of pin?"

                "It was like a glowing eye or something."

                "Was it inside a black circle?" asked John suddenly. 

                David nodded.

                Clara shot John a questioning glance.   She knew he was onto something.

                "A case I worked awhile back.  It's the Dalek symbol."

                The image clicked into place in her mind.   "That clip joint gentleman's club on 4th."

                "I think the word you're looking for is brothel."

                "I guess I know where we are going."

                David's head snapped up when they told him they were leaving.  There was a fire in his eyes Clara had never seen before.  Only on John.  His expression was storm clouds.

                "I'm coming with you."

                "David-"

                "Rose is my wife.  I am coming." he declared.

                She was not keen on the idea, but there was no point in arguing.   It would only waste time.

***

                Dalek was situated between a flop house and a gin mill.  The front of the dive was covered in fake brass platting inset with brass knobbles.  It was a strange industrial design that was far from visually pleasing.  Mounted above the entrance was the glowing eye.  Watching, emotionless, the base humanity which passed beneath.

                Clara had staked out the joint more than once when tailing a cheating husband.  The cigarette girls here were known to give a man a cigar in more ways than one.   Half the highbinders and mouthpieces in the city spent dough at the Dalek so there was no way it was going to be shut down.   It didn't matter if everybody knew the place was a front to launder money for New York's biggest heroin dealer.

                "I don't like this plan." John said. 

                Clara finished pinning on her pill-box hat before replying.   She had managed to pinch one of the girl's uniforms.   It was black with brass trimmings and buttons.   The skirt was short and the corset showed more cleavage than it hid.   She looked like every soldier's dream girl. 

                "I  
will be fine.  Don't forget I've saved your bacon more than once."

                John eyed her up and down a grin playing on his lips.  "I haven't.   That still doesn't mean I have to feel good about this."

                David nodded in agreement.   He had changed into a fresh suit and his fedora was tipped low to cover the black eye and prevent anyone from recognizing him.    He and John were going to act as patrons while she used her outfit to check out the back. 

                Giving John a quick peck on the lips, Clara said, "Wait five minutes before following me in." 

                The inside of Dalek was just as appealing as the outside.   It could have even been worse but the smoke was so thick it was hard to tell.    The dirty chairs and booths were filled with boozehounds, grifters, and blank-eyed women.    No one looked at Clara long enough to realize she didn't work there.  At least no one looked at her face long enough.  

                Once John and David came in and sat down at a booth on the opposite end of the room she made her move.    Slipping through the door to the back Clara started her search.  There was no guaranty that Rose or the men who took her were there, but it was the only lead they had.  

                Turning a corner Clara heard voices.   They were coming from an office at the end of the hall.   She crept closer.   There were two of them, both male.

                "How do you know he won't simply pay the ransom?" said a nasally, board voice.

                The voice which responded crackled with malice.   It was toneless, inhuman.  A shiver ran down Clara's spine. 

                "Because, Simeon, I know John Smith.  He is predicable; he'll come for the girl without a doubt."   The voice turned hard, "And when he does we kill him."

                Clara's breath caught in her throat.   This whole thing was bunk.  It was all a setup to rub out her boyfriend.   Her fear turned to resolve, because there was one thing these goons hadn't counted on.  And that was her.   

                But first Clara knew she needed to warn John and find Rose.  She was the pawn in this chess match who could tip the board.  Whoever had the hostage, had the power. 

                Without warning a hand grabbed her shoulder.

                 "You shouldn't be here." hissed a voice.


	3. Part 3: The Plan

**Part 3-  The Plan**

 

                Clara spun around ready for a fight.  Instead of some thug assailant she found herself face to face with another cigarette girl.   Clara felt a pang of envy.   The young woman's coffee colored skin looked stunning in the dark uniform.   She shot a fearful look over Clara's shoulder at the office where the men were talking.

                "Come on." the girl whispered, "If they catch you we're both dead."

                Obviously this girl knew what was going on around here or at least part of it.   Clara carefully took in her appearance.    Her eyes sparkled with intelligence  and a spark of defiance which probably served her well in a place like this.   She was also beautiful.   This wasn't someone to take for granted, though because of her sex and skin color Clara was sure people often did. 

                Clara nodded, agreeing to follow her.   This was someone she clearly needed to have a conversation with.    They slipped back down the dingy hallway filled with flickering incandescent light from the hanging metal lamps.  The inconsistent light silhouetted the girl in her pin-up style uniform.   The clicking of their heels and the whirling of fans echoed unnervingly in the oppressive silence. 

                They slid through the black painted door and out into the main lounge.   The thick gray smoke which clouded the room enveloped them.   No one seemed to have noticed they ever left.  The patrons still lounged in the booths, expressions vague.  And the pianist in the corner continued to play the endless melody of the living dead.   

                If Clara were a praying woman she would have prayed now.  That this wasn't a bum steer or a trap and this dame could help her find Rose.

                "Who are you?" Clara asked.

                "The name's Martha Jones, but the real question is who are you?  I know you don't work here and if I know, than believe me, Davros does."

                An icy chill ran down Clara's spine.  The name Davros was legendary.  At least in certain circles, like Clara's.  He was the boogeyman, the name on a file, the ghost in the nightmare of every investigator in the city.

                Davros ran and controlled the import and trafficking of dope in New York.  There wasn't a back-street deal he didn't have a hand in.  But he was untouchable, a phantom.  He was the Moriarty to the NYPD's Sherlock.   No one could ever finger him for a crime.

                John's unit had tried linking him to his operations for years.  They knew Dalek was being used to launder his money.  Though Clara doubted anyone thought Davros would ever be on site.  Her mind flicked back to the cold, emotionless voice from the office.

                That's why all of this was happening.

                John's investigation had gotten too close.  And it wasn't enough to simply kill him.  Davros had  to send a message.  That way no one else would come poking around.   He had to make an example out of John.  Clara's heart contracted at the thought.

                "You're here for the dame aren't you?" Martha said, watching her face.

                "Do you know where she is?"

                "First I want to know who you are."

                Martha was testing her.  This doll was smart something Clara admired. 

                She grinned, "Detective Oswald, Clara Oswald."

                "Nice to meet you Detective." Martha returned the smile.

                Clara signaled to John and David who were watching across the room.  Acting casual they made their way over to them.  Martha's smile brightened when she saw David, but he didn't seem to notice.

                "This is John and David, they're with me.  So _do_ you know where she is?"

                Martha hesitated before deciding to trust them.  It was her neck on the line too.

                "I saw them carry her in.  I don’t think they even realized I was there.  They must have used knockout gas on her and she was hog tied.  Other than that the girl appeared to be fine.  Simeon had her taken into Davro's office."

                So Rose was here.  That was swell.  Part of Clara had been afraid she was being stored somewhere offsite until the drop tomorrow.   She was a professional and didn't let the relief show on her face.    That didn't mean she didn't feel it though.  Of course they still needed to figure out how to get to Rose.

                John apparently was thinking the same thing, "We need a distraction." 

                He lightly brushed his fingertips over Clara's arm to still the anxiety he knew she was hiding.   How did he know her so well? 

                "I've got an idea." said Martha with a devious expression.  "But I'm going to need help."

                David nodded in determination, "Count me in."


	4. Part 4: The Chase

**Part 4: The Chase**

 

                The problem with plans, Clara had learned during her years working as a detective, is that they didn't always work out.   Bum luck and the cruel hand of fate tended to get in the way no matter how clever you were.   That’s why you needed an ace up your sleeve or at least the appearance that you had one.   And Clara knew how to do that.

                That’s why when everything went to hell she kept her cool.

                Martha and David's distraction was impossible to miss.  No one, however ossified, could ignore the lights inside the Dalek lounge exploding.   Orange and yellow sparks flew everywhere cutting through the sudden darkness.   People's confused shouting barely covered the repeated popping as yet another blub blew.  When all this was over Clara had to find out how they did that.

                While panic set in Clara and John were hidden in a broom closet in the back hallway.  They watched the office door through the wooden slats which cast slanted light across their features.   It was a tight fit in with the shelving.  Clara found the intense heat and John's body pressed against hers distracting.   She mentally shook herself.  This was no time to be acting like a lovesick dumb Dora.

                Clara's attention was grabbed when a tall, thin man in a black suit came darting out of the office.   His features were pinched and he had the eyes of a grifter. 

                "He's here." hissed the man.  Clara recognized the voice from earlier, this was Simeon.  "John Smith is here."

                "Then kill him." said Davros calmly.  "This is all according to plan."

                A man of indeterminate age followed Simeon out into the hall.  Davros' face was a thing of nightmares.   Skin deformed and twisted as though he had been severely burned.   His flesh was nearly gray and his eyes sunken.  It was a stark contrast to his crisp, blue pinstripe suit and slick-backed hair.

                Clara felt John tense up beside her as if he were preparing to attack Davros right then and there.  She grabbed his arm to prevent him from doing anything stupid.  He may be brilliant, but he was also highly impulsive.   Right now they didn't have the advantage.  This was the Black King and they were on his side of the board.

                Davros continued in his toneless voice, "Get rid of Smith, I'm taking the girl."

                Simeon nodded with a small smile and pulled out a .38.  He disappeared down the hall.  Hopefully Martha and David were already out of the building.   After he left Davros collected one of his goons.   He directed him into the office and he came back carrying Rose. 

                She was bound with white rope and only semiconscious.   Her blonde victory curls were loose, falling over her face.  Clara could see defensive wounds on her hands and legs; clearly Rose didn't go down without a fight.  She appeared otherwise unharmed. 

                "Put her in the car," Davros instructed, "We're moving her to the warehouse."

                Clara gritted her teeth.   This was the exact opposite of what they wanted to happen.  She exchanged a silent glance with John.  They both knew they needed to get Rose before she went into that warehouse.  Otherwise they would lose any advantage they might have had.

                Clara and John slipped out of the closet to follow Davros and his thug.   Outside Rose began to struggle.  She was regaining her senses.   The drugs were wearing off.   They shoved her in the backseat of a black Buick sedan.   Davros pealed out.

                Clara drew the bean-shooter she had strapped to her thigh and John aimed his own .38 special.   Firing at the tires they tried to take out the car.   Bullets ricocheted off the hubcaps but didn't hit the mark.  They were too far out of range. 

                John hopped on an Indian motorcycle parked beside the building.  Hot wiring was his idea of commandeering a vehicle.   The engine roared to life as Clara jumped on behind him.

                "This is a terrible plan." she yelled, wrapping her arms around his waist.

                "Just hold on!"

                They took off weaving in and out of the late night traffic.  The yellow street lamps and city lights were a blur.   Clara kept her eyes on the Buick.   Davros knew they were on his tail.  He sped up dodging other cars.  It was now a deadly game of cat and mouse.

                The Buick, tires squealing, turned off the main road.   Clara thought they'd overbalance as John swerved after them.   The moment the other cars were clear she threw lead.   The rear tire blew sending the heap spinning.   The goon fired back as the car lost control.   It smashed into a fence stopping for good.     

                White smoke filled the air.  Davros was slumped over the wheel.   His hired gun jumped out still waving his cannon.  John shot him in the leg dropping him instantly.   Clara registered all this but her mind was focused on something else.   She got off the motorcycle and took two steps before falling to her knees.   Her chest was burning. 

                John slapped bracelets on the two men and pulled Rose from the wreaked vehicle.   He untied her hands.  That’s when he seemed to realize something was wrong.   Clara wasn't with him.   She watched the blood drain from his face when he saw her on the ground.  

                "Clara!" he shouted running to her side.  "No. No. No."

                That's when she finally realized what the burning was.  She was shot.   Chest wound, not good, Clara thought dimly.   Her blood stained the Dalek uniform and John's hands.   He was trying to stop the bleeding.  Rose ran to find a payphone.  

                "Don't you dare leave me." John ordered.   There were tears in his eyes.  His kissed her lips and stroked her hair softly.  "You can't leave me, I love you."

                Clara smiled.  She couldn't really feel anything anymore.

                Hands shaking, John pulled something out of his pocket.   It was a small diamond ring.  He sipped it onto her left ring finger.  "I was waiting for the right time, but…  Clara Oswald will you be my wife?"

                Clara nodded unable to speak.   John chocked out a hysterical laugh.   He kissed her again desperately.   It was all Clara could focus on as she slipped into the black. 

***

                The beeping of medical equipment greeted Clara back to consciousness.   She was in a drab, white hospital room.   A doctor stood by her bed reading a chart.   John was asleep in a chair.  Clara tried to remember how she got here.   It all came rushing back.   The chase, getting shot, and John.  John asking her to marry him. 

                Maybe it was the morphine but Clara couldn't help the wide smile spreading across her face.   She glanced over a John.   She never would have guessed her life would turn out like this.   He made her so happy. 

                The doctor set aside his clipboard noticing her eyes were open.  "Ah Ms. Oswald you're awake.  You gave everyone quite a scare."

                John immediately sat up then rushed to her bedside.  "Clara? Oh thank god."

                "How long was I out?" she asked, squeezing his hand.

                "About 18 hours." said the doctor, "We had you in surgery for four."

                "You're going to be fine." John assured her with a small smile.   He looked tired.

                The doctor nodded.  "Yes you were both lucky.  The bullet missed the major organs."  

                Clara frowned, "Both?"

                The man's eyebrows raised in surprise.  "You didn't know?"

                "Know what?"

                He laughed, "You're pregnant."

                Clara turned to John in shock.   For a moment she didn't know what to think.  He blinked then a radiant smile slid across his face.   Tears blurred her vision as she grinned back at him.   John leaned down to kiss her joyfully.  She tried to express without words she felt the same.  

                New York City was hot.   The backstreets full of crime and lost souls.  Death, and smoke, and sorrow were all part of daily life in the Big Apple.   But right now Clara didn't see it, right now she was happy.


End file.
